


All is Hell that Ends Well

by raengst



Series: Festering Verse [2]
Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Alastor Whump (Hazbin Hotel), Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Demon Deals, Depression, Drug Abuse, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Gen, Hurt Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Hurt/Comfort, Niffty is smart, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Self-Harm, Soft Husk (Hazbin Hotel), Vomiting, i'm so glad that's a tag bless
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:53:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25195729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raengst/pseuds/raengst
Summary: He found them, or maybe they found him. He shakes their hands, binding their souls to his because that's how deals work. Somehow, they make him feel like himself again.[ HIATUS. REWORKING. REWRITING. ]
Relationships: Alastor & Husk & Niffty (Hazbin Hotel)
Series: Festering Verse [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1774834
Comments: 64
Kudos: 170





	1. The Man in Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 1: Niffty  
> She died and fell on the doorstep of a broken man.

_You are sentenced to death._

Sachiko never forgot the sound of the gavel slamming down, sealing her fate. Despite the curdling fear she felt in her stomach, she grinned as they took her away. She counted down the days, enjoyed a nice tea as her last meal, and smiled as they strapped her down in the chair.

The electricity scorching her veins subsides and she’s left standing in darkness for a moment. And then she’s falling, a red sky engulfing her vision. Trees sprout up around her and then she hits the ground.

All the air is knocked out of her body and she’s left gasping for breath. Sachiko groans and pushes herself into a sitting position, body aching. She takes a moment to survey her surroundings, noting the woodsy area. There’s a rundown cabin in front of her, the roof threatening to collapse under the weight of a radio tower reaching for the pentagram in the sky.

The front door opens and Sachiko hastily stands up, momentarily caught off guard when she sees her hands—once tan skin now charcoal black. She can’t examine any further once the figure in the doorway spies her with a smile, and she quickly hides her hands behind her back.

He comes forward, tall, a slight sway to his step, and with so much red. A torn, dark red suit jacket worn over a blood red button up tucked into black slacks. Long red hair tied back into a tight ponytail, minus two tufts that stand straight up like ears along with a set of horns—antlers. Red eyes stare down at her along with a forced grin full of sharp yellow teeth, minus one blight of silver. His appearance both confounds her and sets her on edge, but despite all that, she can’t help but find him rather handsome.

“And what brings you here, my darling?” he asks, overly enthusiastic. His voice sounds like a man on the radio, the sound of an intrigued audience somehow accompanying him.

Sachiko blinks. “Where am I?”

“Why, you’re in Hell of course!” he exclaims, spreading his arms wide.

_Hell._

It sounds so absurd and she wants to laugh in his face. She’s not religious, didn’t care for the church she and her husbanded attended, didn’t care for the ideals of Christianity. The concept behind Heaven and Hell were simply ideas that meant nothing to her. It wasn’t real, it just wasn’t.

But the evidence presented to her proves otherwise. The darkness before she fell, a moment of judgement. The pentagram in the red sky. This man in red who might just be the Devil himself. Maybe her brain is just too fried from the electric chair—

“So,” the Devil starts, smile sharp, “Why are you here?”

Why is she in Hell?

_His face is caved in, completely unrecognizable. Her hands are bloody, and the meat bounder slips from her fingers and clatters on the floor. She smiles—_

“I killed my husband,” Sachiko says.

Red eyes brighten, his grin widens, and the disembodied crowd cheers. “I’ve killed lots of husbands! Quite useless oafs, aren’t they?” Laugh track.

She wonders if he’s just joking, trying to get her to ease up and laugh with the nonexistent audience. A wasted effort, Sachiko thinks, she doesn’t regret her actions in the slightest. But his bloodthirsty grin suggests his comment was pure fact. And as if he read her mind, he answers her unspoken question— _why are you here?_

“I was a serial killer, my dear.”

It’s unnerving how proudly and freely he admits such a fact. The _was_ doesn’t go unnoticed but she has a feeling he still _is_ considering his sneer. As her theory of him being the Devil falls apart, she wonders how old he is, how long he’s been in Hell. There’s a heavy weariness in his eyes, and a forced look to his smile despite appearing to be genuinely happy about her confession. It’s all a little off putting.

She doesn’t voice any of these thoughts. Instead she asks, “Who are you?”

“Alastor!” he says, holding out a hand. “And what is your name, darling?”

Sachiko doesn’t feel very inclined to admit her real name to him. He’s too unpredictable, and he’s in Hell just like her. She thinks of her neighbor and her perfect little family and her cute little cookies. She takes Alastor’s hand, wary of his claws. “I’m Mary.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Mary!” His grin is wide, teeth sharp and too close. He smells like blood and alcohol, and the silver is so distracting. She looks away, behind him, and focuses on something else.

“Your place is dreadful.”

“Ah…” He drops her hand and his shoulders slump as he turns to look at his home. It looks like it’s seen better days what with the bad roof, overgrowth of vines, and rotted wood. There seems to have been an attempt at cleaning it, judging by the good windows and the lighter stains across the front that might have been him wiping something away.

“I’m working on it,” Alastor mumbles, smile small and sad. Sachiko frowns as he turns back to her, noting how he forces himself to look more excited and enthusiastic. “Would you like to come inside, maybe have a cup of tea?” The fake cheerfulness in his voice almost hurts and, for some reason, she says yes.

He opens the door for her, letting her enter first before coming in behind her. Sachiko grimaces at the sight before her. Broken glass, dirt, and dried grass and leaves all over the floor. A horrifically stained and tattered couch. There’s the smell of rotting meat somewhere that makes Sachiko gag.

She turns to face him, glaring up at him. He has his arms wrapped around himself, looking uncomfortable, his smile uneasy. “Sorry for the mess.”

“Where are your cleaning supplies?” Sachiko asks. She can’t stand the filth, the smell, and she can’t fathom how this man lives like this. It looks more abandoned than lived in. Her fingers itch to get started working, get cleaning, do _something._

Alastor snaps his fingers, and Sachiko watches a red spark fly out and land on the floor. It grows and spins before disappearing in a flash, leaving behind a wonderful set of cleaning supplies. Bottles of spray, dusters, mops, and more. Sachiko can feel herself almost bouncing in anticipation.

She hears Alastor sigh heavily, and she glances over at him. He looks strangely exhausted compared to just a minute ago. Pale, dark circles under his eyes even darker, a slight tremble to his hands that he covers up by hugging himself again. He looks like he might just collapse right there in front of her, and Sachiko wonders if she would be able to catch him or not.

Probably not. He’s a lot taller and she’s starting to feel more aware of how her stature has changed. She’s always been a bit on the short side in life, but not even coming to Alastor’s waist seems rather ridiculous. It’s like she’s been placed in the body of a child.

“Clean however much you’d like,” Alastor murmurs. “Just don’t go upstairs and please stay out of my room.”

Sachiko nods and Alastor moves away, carefully making his way down a hall. She listens for the sound of his door clicking shut before she gets to work. The living room gets a good dusting and sweeping first, and it’s then she realizes she’s far faster here in Hell than she was in life. Nimble, quick, height doesn’t matter when she can just speed climb up the bookshelf to reach the cobwebs. It’s not long before she finishes mopping and moves on to the kitchen, the couch a lost cause.

The kitchen is a wreck, but she counts herself lucky that there’s a working fridge that’s looks relatively new with some decent food inside with several bottles of alcohol. She’s quick to throw out anything that might be off, including several badly packed things of meat. The oven and stove receive a good clean, and thankfully still work. Once the floor, table, and counter tops are properly cleaned and wiped down, she leaves out some of the vegetables she found in the fridge to make a little soup for later.

She walks into the hallway, heading straight for the bathroom, but pauses when the smell of rotten meat smacks her in the face. Sachiko stands in front of a closed door, a hand over her nose and mouth. She’s positive it’s Alastor’s room, judging by the rustling from inside, and Sachiko scowls at the idea of him surrounded by such filth. Is he aware of it? Does he even care?

Sachiko sighs and eyes the strange markings and symbols scratched into the door and surrounding wall. She raises her free hand, reaching, stretching, and brushes her fingers against the etchings. They glow red, vibrant and hot. She can feel the heat and quickly pulls her hand away before it burns her.

The questions surrounding Alastor increase.

She frowns and quickly moves on to the bathroom, taking note of the stairs at the end of the hall. It smells but there seems to have been at least an attempt at cleaning it. The fresh blood in the sink and tub does not go unnoticed, but she cleans it all regardless. What makes her pause is when she catches her reflection in the cracked mirror.

The most startling feature is the eye. Just one, taking up most of her face, light yellow iris surrounded by orange and big lashes. Her black hair now red with a streak of yellow, her teeth sharp and pointed. She touches the corners of her mouth, pulling at the pink dots, dragging her lips back. It’s all so strange; she doesn’t look at all like herself. She huffs and continues cleaning.

Once everything is left sparkling, as clean as she can possibly make it, she heads back to the kitchen. She starts working on the vegetable soup that Neighbor Mary taught her when she moved out to America with her husband. _Waste Not Soup,_ she had called it. Sachiko was familiar with more extreme rationing, so she easily and eagerly learned the little but hardy dishes that had been passed around in the neighborhood.

She has to drag a chair over to stand on so she can properly chop the vegetables and stir the pot and she feels like a child. It’s beyond frustrating, and she wonders if this is supposed to be God’s sick joke of a punishment.

“You’ve really cleaned up the place.”

His voice startles her, making some of the broth slosh out onto the stove. Distantly she had heard the creak of the door opening and closing, the clack of Alastor’s shoes on the wood floor, but none of it really registered.

She turns to glare at him as he stands awkwardly near the table, holding himself with another forced smile painted on his face. “It looks nice,” he offers.

The dark stains on the sleeves of his suit jacket and the heavy smell of blood does not go unnoticed, but she decides not to bring attention to it. Sachiko sighs before turning back to the stove. “Thank you,” she says.

“You like to cook?”

“I do.” She stirs the pot. It’s almost done. “It eases my mind. Relaxes me.”

Sachiko used to watch her mother in the kitchen when she was younger, and then she started helping in any way she could shortly thereafter. And then she moved, and she made herself into the perfect wife who cooked and cleaned and did everything right. But it was never enough. It was never enough for him.

She hears Alastor step closer, coming up beside her, and the scent of blood is even stronger. He breathes in deeply and she takes a brief glance to see him close his eyes and lose some of the tension in his shoulders. His smile is small, soft, and verging on sad. Sachiko quickly looks away when he starts to open his eyes.

“Smells delicious,” he says. The tone of his voice makes him sound far away, mind elsewhere, thinking of another life. There’s a strange, static hum to him and Sachiko wonders what it means, if it means anything.

“Thank you,” she murmurs, smiling a little to herself.

The soup is ready shortly after that. Alastor takes down a couple bowls from the cabinets and Sachiko pours in the broth. They sit down at the table across from each other and Sachiko whispers a quick and quiet _thank you_ before eating. It’s hot, soothing, and she lets herself melt into the seat a little.

To her surprise, Alastor is already finished and getting up for seconds. She takes some private joy in that, knowing she did well. He eats it just as fast, getting up for more.

It’s when he’s in the middle of his fourth bowl and Sachiko is just finishing up her one when Alastor finally slows down. But not because he’s getting full. Alastor looks pale, covered in a thin sheen of sweat, struggling to swallow each bite. Then he abruptly drops the spoon and just holds his hand over his mouth for a moment. Sachiko wants to ask what’s wrong but Alastor pushes himself away from the table and runs out of the kitchen.

She hears retching and Sachiko worries her bottom lip as she gets down from the chair and cautiously makes her way to the bathroom. She’s positive it wasn’t the soup—the vegetables looked relatively fresh, probably bought a few days ago. Not to mention that she would have had the same reaction if something was off. Maybe he just ate too much too fast?

And then a different thought occurs to her.

He sounds like he’s choking when she spies him from the doorway. He’s on his knees, bent over the toilet, vomiting out the contents of his stomach. Sachiko comes closer and hesitantly places a hand on his back. Alastor stiffens but then retches again. She can feel his spine through the fabric of his clothes as she rubs her hand over his back, trying to offer some sort of comfort. She could tell he was thin just by looking at him, but she didn’t think he would be so bony. It’s unnerving to say the least.

“I’m sorry,” she says when it seems the worst of it has passed.

Alastor spits and rests his head on the seat. “Not your fault, my dear.”

Sachiko frowns. She reaches over and flushes the toilet so the smell of vomit doesn’t linger. Alastor looks exhausted, sweaty and pale. She pulls her hand away and sits down on the floor, leaning back against the wall.

“How much did you drink?” she asks.

Alastor stares at her for a moment before letting out a breath of shaky laughter. His smile looks sheepish, having been clearly caught. It wasn’t hard to figure out. Sachiko knows the smell of alcohol on one’s breath all too well.

“I always drink too much,” Alastor mumbles. It doesn’t really answer her question, but it says a lot about him and all the alcohol in the cabinets. But then he adds, “However, that’s not really the issue here.”

Sachiko blinks, but Alastor doesn’t say anything else. Maybe she was right in her initial thought that he ate too much too fast? Although, it could also be both that and the alcohol.

It’s quiet for a moment after that, and Sachiko just fiddles with the sleeves of her prison uniform, feeling uncomfortable with too many thoughts. She startles when Alastor moves, groaning as he pushes himself to his feet and shuffles to the sink to rinse out his mouth. Sachiko stands up as well and waits with her hands behind her back, unsure of what else to do.

“I’m terribly sorry,” Alastor says after wiping his mouth. He looks down at with such a sad little smile that it makes her heart ache. “I haven’t been feeling like myself lately. But I want to assure you; your food was absolutely delicious.”

He’s such a gentleman. An absolute mess of a man, but so very polite and kind and thoughtful. And maybe it helps that he has a handsome face, easy on the eye.

There’s so many questions surrounding him. He’s like a puzzle that she doesn’t have all the pieces to. Pieces that maybe he’s hidden away or even lost himself. He reminds her of a broken piece of pottery. One that was poorly put back together. One that she can’t help but feel like she can fix, or at least make a little better.

“May I stay here?” she asks suddenly. “At least…for a little longer?”

She has nowhere else to go, nowhere else to be. She’s fresh meat in Hell, small, and with no one to help her. She’d be easy prey. Sachiko considers getting on her hands and knees to beg when it feels like too much time has passed. But then Alastor chuckles lightly.

“Of course, darling. You can stay.”


	2. The Sad Little Women

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sachiko cooks, cleans, and remembers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for mentions/depictions of domestic abuse toward the end.

The next morning arrives, the red sky bright and shining light through the windows. Sachiko yawns and unwraps herself from the blankets before sliding off the couch.

Alastor didn’t have a guestroom available and instead cleaned and fixed the poor old couch with a snap of his fingers. He looked completely drained immediately after and Sachiko could see why his efforts to clean the house were so lackluster. It’s likely he’s only just recently obtained this house, left abandoned for many years, and has slowly been working on it.

He gave her some spare blankets and pillows to use before disappearing down the hall into his room. As she curled up for the night, she wondered if he had killed someone for this place, and if perhaps the smell of rotting meat was the victim. A disconcerting thought to fall asleep to.

Sachiko stretches and groans, body aching. The couch may have been fixed but that doesn’t mean it was comfortable to sleep on. She holds the position until she feels and hears her joints crack and then rolls her neck. She folds the blankets, setting them on the couch, and places the pillows on top.

Alastor’s not up yet, so she moves on to the kitchen to make breakfast. She figures she’ll use up the remaining vegetables before they go bad and make some pancakes. However, she finds no flour, no eggs, no milk. Nothing. Sachiko drums her fingers on the counter, her original plan scrapped.

She looks in the fridge again, pulls out the asparagus and one of the two remaining containers of meat. It’s hard to identify what exactly the meat is, but there’s thin slices, almost like scraps. An idea forms in her head.

First, she preheats the oven. Then, she sets up a kettle of water to boil on the stove while she works on prepping the meal, having found a box of breakfast tea in the cabinets amongst all the alcohol. A good hot drink is always nice to enjoy in the morning.

She’s just finished wrapping the scraps of meat around the pieces of asparagus when the kettle starts shrieking and Alastor finally shuffles into the kitchen. His hair is loose, falling past his shoulders, and he’s semi-dressed—partially buttoned up shirt, not tucked into his pants. She’s surprised note that his feet are colored black like his hands, with two hooved toes that are red like his claws. Her gaze travels back up, now catching sight of the scars on his chest that also line his neck. She sees him watching her and she quickly looks away.

“Good morning!” she says, putting as much cheer into her voice as she can as she moves to pour them both a cup of tea. Alastor mumbles a reply but it just sounds like garbled static. He steps closer and Sachiko makes an effort to not notice the smell of blood and alcohol on his breath as she hands him his cup.

His smile is small and soft. “Thank you,” he murmurs.

He sits at the table, and it’s the most relaxed and content Sachiko has seen Alastor so far. She smiles a little to herself before putting the food in the oven for a few minutes. She sips at her own cup of tea as she waits, taking occasional glances at Alastor. His eyes are closed, lost in his own thoughts. The loose and messy hair, lazily thrown on outfit, relaxed posture…he really is quite handsome.

She finishes her tea and the food is ready soon after. Alastor pulls down two plates and they sit at the table, eating in silence. Sachiko notes how quickly Alastor finishes his meal but stops himself at the one serving despite looking desperate for more.

“I haven’t had such wonderful meals in a long time,” he says suddenly. His expression looks far away, slightly pained, and Sachiko wonders if he meant to say that out loud or not. One hand has a tight grip on his empty cup of tea and the other is scratching deep grooves into the wooden table. Sachiko frowns.

Alastor inhales sharply then, as if coming back to himself. He catches Sachiko staring and his falling smile becomes more forced, sharp, and on edge. “What I mean is—” a brief pause. “Thank you.”

Sachiko’s heart flutters a bit at the soft sincerity in his tone and she can’t help but smile in return. The simple gesture seems to put him at ease, his grin relaxing. He eases his claws out of the wood and sets the cup down. Wringing his hands together and resting his chin on them, he stares at her intently, as if trying to pick her apart with his eyes.

Burning red eyes that are full of a heavy weariness and intrigue. His closed-lipped smile curling softly. The slight angle to his head, causing some of his hair to fall in his face.

“Ah—” Sachiko looks down at her empty plate, feeling flustered. “I’m glad you like it—the food.” His laughter blends together with a chuckling crowd.

Alastor takes care of the dishes as Sachiko packs up the leftovers. There’s enough for a small lunch and dinner. But then she eyes the remaining contents in the fridge, one zucchini, two carrots, and a package with poorly diced chunks of meat. She hums. They can easily make today’s breakfast last a few more days, and the remaining food even longer. She drums her fingers on the fridge door before closing it and sighing.

“Something wrong?” Alastor asks, plates dried and put away.

“Is there a place where we can get food?”

It feels like such a silly question to ask, implying if there are grocery stores in Hell. But Hell appears to be a lot different from what she was told in church. Over the years she had conjured up the image of having her flesh burned off by scorching flames and subjected to listening to the screams of the damned. That was what she had expected. Not a man with a broken smile living in a cabin in the middle of the woods with no food.

Extreme rationing isn’t new to her, her mind already set on the appropriate portion sizes to dish out to last them a couple weeks. Although Alastor’s skeletal frame unnerves her, the feeling of his spine still on her hand, how frighteningly visible his collarbone is. But regardless of all that, they’re going to need to get more food eventually.

“Oh.” The tension is back in his shoulders, and he looks uncomfortable. “Right.”

Sachiko looks up at him, frowning at how wide and forced his smile is. Alastor catches her staring and tries to appear relaxed but instead just looks like he’s grimacing.

He says something else but it’s unintelligible, garbled by static. He quickly exits the kitchen and Sachiko follows after him for a moment before he heads down the hall and closes the door to the bathroom. Sachiko sighs, worries her bottom lip, and goes to sit down on the couch. She kicks her legs back and forth, listening to one door opening and another closing.

Alastor eventually comes back out, looking clean and prepped, ready to go out. Hair smoothed down, red shirt tucked into his pants but purposely unbuttoned down to his chest, vest open, grin way too wide. There’s a sort of frantic, manic energy to him as he puts on his shoes and slips on a lightweight coat.

Sachiko slips off the couch, moving to stop him at the door. “Are you okay?”

“Hm?” He looks down at her, arm paused in reaching for the door handle. She narrows her gaze at him, noting how the black of his pupils are trying to take over the lighter red of his irises. Through his teeth he says, “I’m wonderful, my dear! Don’t you worry.”

Sachiko glares, unconvinced. She barely knows Alastor, but everything about this feels wrong. “Where are you going?”

“I have a lot of things I need to take care of.” He moves past her, opening the door, stepping out. “I’ll be back later!” His voice is so cheerful and fake. Before she can say anything else, he closes the door. Sachiko rushes to the window just in time to watch him disappear into the shadows of the woods. Gone.

The cabin suddenly feels way too big, and she feels way too small. Sachiko steps back from the window, turns around, and wraps her arms around herself. She’s still wearing her prison uniform and she almost laughs. Everything’s been so hectic, she didn’t allow much time for herself to think about things too much. Just move, clean, cook, clean, sleep through a dreamless night. Cook some more. Clean some more. It’s just like when she was alive.

Sachiko sighs heavily.

She moves to the bathroom, intent on easing her thoughts with a relaxing bath. There isn’t any soap, so she makes do by scrubbing at her scalp with her nails. So much is missing in this house, it’s maddening to think of someone living here for any extended period of time. She huffs before dunking her head under the water to rinse her hair out.

The red hair that falls over her face is still strange, so different. She brushes the bangs away from her eye. Her one eye. Her entire appearance has changed so much and so drastically. The charcoal black skin on her arms runs up to her shoulders where it meets an almost lightshade of yellow. Her legs are the same, colors blending together at her hips.

Sachiko sighs and leans back against the tub, staring up at the ceiling for a moment, wondering what it all means. She closes her eye and dips her hand between her thighs for a little bit of stress relief and self-indulgence.

Once she’s as clean as she can be, she wraps a worn towel around herself and works on scrubbing her clothes clean in the kitchen sink because there isn’t a washer. She wrings them out and hangs them over the kitchen chairs because there isn’t a dryer or a clothesline anywhere. And she’s not sure how much she trusts the putting them outside considering the cabin is surrounded by a forest with whatever demonic creatures live in Hell.

_Hell._

It’s still strange to think—to know that it’s real. Not so strange that she ended up here, it makes sense after she did. Murder.

_Cut him up into tiny pieces, packaged him away. Served him to the neighbors and their children, ate him herself—_

And she doesn’t regret it.

Sachiko hums, wraps the towel tighter, and wanders. While she did clean yesterday, she didn’t really _look_ at anything too deeply. The alcohol in the cabinets are mostly a variety of whiskeys, some half empty, others with only one glass remaining.

In the living room, the books on the shelves are old and worn out, broken spines and many have pages ripped out of them. There’s a few jars with long dead flowers and leaves inside. The wall opposite the shelves looks like there may have been things hanging there. Paintings? Photos? She’s not sure.

She walks aimlessly back into the hallway, glancing over at the strange symbols scratched into the wood. Her feet stop dead in their tracks when she realizes that the door is cracked open. He must have not closed it all the way. Sachiko’s fingers twitch with curious temptation, but she quickly moves on, past the bedroom and up the stairs.

The stairs open to a single closed door. She wonders if it’ll be locked when she reaches for the knob but is surprised when it easily turns. The door creaks open and Sachiko steps inside. It looks to be the fragmented remains of a recording studio. There appears to have been an attempt at repairing it, but it doesn’t look like anything’s been touched in quite a while.

Pieces suddenly start to fall into place. Pieces she hadn’t really paid attention to before. The radio tower, this wrecked recording room, and Alastor’s constant static hum with the voice of a man on the radio. This is _his_ home, not a house he stole and killed for. How long has he been living here in absolute squalor?

_It’s disgusting._

Sachiko scowls and exits the room, closing the door behind her, and goes back downstairs. She preps the cleaning supplies she’ll need before putting on her clothes. They’re still damp, but she doesn’t want to have to worry about her towel slipping off while she cleans. This will just have to do for now.

She pushes Alastor’s bedroom door open, ignores the red glow of the symbols, and steps inside. The smell hits her first and she gags before covering her nose and mouth. Taking a look around, she grimaces at what must be old and new blood smeared across the floor. There’s broken glass and empty bottles. The bed looks to be in even worse shape than the couch was, and she’s positive it’s blood that stains the sheets.

Perhaps the most startling feature if the writing on the wall. The letters are smeared, so there was an attempt at wiping it away, but Alastor had clearly given up at some point.

_Slut._

_Whore._

It pulls at Sachiko’s heart strings a bit, twists her insides when she thinks of how he left earlier today. Unbuttoned shirt, open vest and coat, painfully forced smile, pupils too wide to be normal. She sighs, pushing the images away, and starts cleaning, starting with scrubbing the walls clean.

A good sweep of the floor reveals what she had been looking for, chunks and scraps of old rotten meat in the back corner and even under the bed. She braves going outside for a moment and throws the findings as far as she can into the woods. Whether some creature picks it up doesn’t matter, just as long as it’s out of the house.

She takes the sheets off the bed to clean in the sink later and scrubs aggressively at the mattress. The stains are still there, and there isn’t anything she can do about the rips and tears. Maybe Alastor would be able to magic it better at some point.

A frown works itself onto her face when she starts dusting, removing empty bottles, and finding little bags full of white powder. Sachiko examines them, also noting the remnants on the dresser where some must have been dumped out in the past. Without thinking any further, she throws them out.

Finally, she mops the floor. The blood stains are removed, and the smell of rotting meat is gone at last. It’s a job well done and Sachiko beams in satisfaction. The only thing left to do is try to scrub the bedsheets clean. They’re left to dry on the chairs and table, stains faded but still there.

She enjoys a small late lunch, cutting a piece of today’s breakfast in half and munching on it before putting the rest away. There’s still much time left in the day and Alastor isn’t back yet—she isn’t sure when he’ll be coming back either. Hopefully after the sheets are dry and back on the bed. She wants it to be a surprise when he sees how clean his room is.

Sachiko yawns as she plops down on the couch, the past couple days catching up to her. Maybe a short nap would do her some good.

A short nap turns into something much longer instead. The door creaking open and the clack of Alastor’s shoes is what wakes her up later that night. She must have been more exhausted than she thought. Not unusual, she had gotten used to having to push past her body’s limits in life. It was essential to keep everything as clean as possible, to keep herself always on guard for the next rampage.

“Sorry,” Alastor says, voice hoarse and filled with static. “Didn’ mean t’ wake ya up.”

His speech sounds slurred and Sachiko sits up further. Even in the darkness she can tell he’s a mess. His hair is tangled and knotted, his clothes torn. He’s has something in his arms as he slowly makes his way into the kitchen. Sachiko slips off the couch and quickly follows after him.

The light comes on and Alastor pauses, staring at the bedsheets lying on the table and chairs. Sachiko sighs. She was asleep for too long, so much for the lovely surprise.

“Mary,” Alastor starts, moving to set the package down on the counter. Sachiko blinks, coming back to herself after staring at the apparent wounds on his neck and torso. She had forgotten that was the name she had given him yesterday. “What is this?”

Sachiko beams. “I cleaned your room.” Alastor looks taken back and she eagerly continues, “I swept, mopped, and dusted. I scrubbed everything as clean as I could make it. I was waiting for your sheets to dry when I fell asleep. I wanted to—”

“I told you to stay out of my room.”

His voice comes out as a low growl and it makes Sachiko freeze, all her words dying out on her tongue. He’s staring at her with a vicious intensity, no longer smiling, almost as if he wants to maim her with his teeth. Sachiko wraps her arms around herself, insides twisting and drowning in sudden anxiety.

“I—”

She doesn’t get to finish. Alastor walks past her and she flinches away. He rushes into his room, and she can hear him moving things around, looking for something, muttering things under his breath. All the while, the sound of static feverishly rises in volume.

Sachiko slowly makes her way back into the living room, still surrounded by the light from the kitchen. She hears a crash and slew of shouts and curses from Alastor’s room. Her mind travels back to those times when the TV was on and her husband was throwing bottles, yelling nonsense and screaming her name.

Alastor’s voice brings her back to the present when he shouts, _“Where is it?”_

He comes out into the hallway, looking frantic. When he spies her his expression turns venomous and Sachiko wishes she had stayed in the kitchen. She feels rooted in place when he moves toward her, her mind reeling back to all the times her husband would come at her, and how much worse things would get if she attempted to run away.

Alastor grabs her by the shoulders, claws digging in. His lips are pulled back like a snarling beast, teeth too sharp, too close. Red eyes engulf, pupils like dials on a radio. _“What did you do with it?”_

Sachiko doesn’t know what he’s talking about, mind too caught up in the past. She can feel tears welling up and she closes her eye, waiting. Waiting for the inevitable pain to come because of course. Of course, things would turn out this way.

No matter how hard she tries, she’s never good enough.

 _Useless woman,_ her husband’s voice echoes in her head. Slammed down onto the floor, he would pick her up by her hair and hiss in her ear how useless she was— _is._

_Good for nothing—waste of my time and money._

_Fucking worthless bitch!_

And then nothing but pain, _pain, **pain.**_

She wanted to be the perfect housewife, but she was never good enough. And then she finally killed him. Beat his face in, cleaned up the mess, cut him to pieces, served and ate him. But somehow, it’s like he never died. He haunted her dreams in prison, invaded her thoughts, held her hostage. And it’s happening all over again.

She can’t get away from him. He’s right here, his actions shining through in this snarling demon in red, in this disgusting, empty house. He waited for her soul to fall and latched on to her, followed her down to Hell, and he won’t let her go.

Sachiko cries, waiting for Alastor to strike. But he never does. Vaguely, she feels him release her and hears him step back. She looks up at him, his image blurred by her tears. There’s horror, shock, and disgust painted on his face. None of it aimed at her, all directed at himself. He turns and quickly rushes back to his room.

As soon as the door slams shut, Sachiko sinks down to the floor and sobs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may or may not have been working on a discord server for the Festering Verse. Feel free to join if you want, but you have to be 18+ to stay. But yeah, you can check it out [here](https://discord.gg/g2fkFqB). Hope to see you there! ❤❤❤
> 
> [16 AUGUST 2020] EDIT: This story is not on hiatus but updates are probably going to be very sparse from here on out. I've been incredibly stressed out to the point of tears and it's hard to write like that lol. Compounded by the fact that college starts back up next week, it's just gonna make writing on my own even harder. I'm so happy that so many of you have been enjoying this little AU of mine. Updates will come, I just can't promise when and I can't promise they'll happen any time soon. Love y'all ❤


	3. Refresh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apologies are made, a day of shopping is done.

Sachiko doesn’t sleep well, if she sleeps at all, she’s not exactly sure. It just felt like she closed her eyes for long periods of time until morning finally came. She never moved from her spot on the floor though, unable to drag up the energy to walk to the couch. At some point in the night, Alastor came back out and draped a blanket over her.

She cracks open her eye just a bit when she hears the scape and clack of Alastor’s hooved toes as he moves about the cabin. He stays in the kitchen for a while, and she hears him taking down and setting up dishes. She finally decides to get up when she hears the kettle shrieking.

The first thing she notices is that the sheets are gone, so he must have taken those back earlier. Instead, there is a plate on the table with one little ornate pie.

“Ah, good morning,” Alastor says.

“Morning,” Sachiko replies, finally looking at him. She pauses.

He’s wearing the same clothes he had on when they first met a couple days ago, top buttons undone, sleeves rolled up, exposing more dark and scarred skin. But more startling are the fresh wounds on his arms, collarbone, neck, and even face.

Deep gashes run from his wrists and up his forearms. They appear to be the most recent of the injuries, maybe even from earlier this morning before she woke up. Bruises and bite marks line his collarbone and neck. His lips are split and bruised, and it looks like he got hit just below his right eye.

The bruises and marks must have happened yesterday before he returned late last night. She vaguely recalls seeing them, but she doesn’t remember them being so stark. However, it was dark in the house and it’s possible the bruises hadn’t fully formed until hours later. It didn’t help that her mind was rather caught up in the past at the time.

She sits down at the table, her insides twisting in anxiety as Alastor sets down a cup of tea in front of her. His movements are stiff, and he looks pained, hand trembling and nearly spilling the hot drink. The scent of blood is overwhelming, and she tries not to look at his arm, skin ripped open. He doesn’t sit at the table with her, instead stepping back and leaning against the counter with his cup in both hands.

His smile is uneasy, and he looks like he’s working himself up to say something, but Sachiko interjects before he can start. “What happened?” she asks.

Alastor pauses, looking confused and unsure until he sees her line of sight. Setting down his cup, he hastily pulls down the sleeves of his shirt and does up the last few buttons so most of his neck is hidden underneath the fabric.

“Nothing, darling.”

Sachiko ignores the way her heart flutters at the way he calls her darling, soft with just a touch of his usual static hum. She frowns, more concerned with the injuries at hand, and presses forward, “It’s not nothing. What happened?”

Alastor’s smile looks like a grimace. “That’s—I—” He wraps his arms around himself. “I don’t want to talk about that.”

Sachiko’s frown deepens. “Alastor—”

“No!” he snaps, teeth bared in a snarl. Sachiko freezes, heart pounding. Alastor looks down at the floor, ears pinned back, breathing hard. A moment passes, the tension trying to strangle them before Alastor looks back up at her. _“Please.”_

His voice is desperate, big red eyes pleading with her. Everything about the situation feels wrong, her insides knotting at the implications. The way he left yesterday, the way he looks now. The words she saw on the wall of his bedroom. _Whore. Slut._ It all adds up to a nasty conclusion that she doesn’t like.

Sachiko sighs and decides to let the topic go.

“What flavor is the pie?” she asks, hoping to divert some of the tension in the air.

Alastor perks up a bit, smile returning. “It’s strawberry and rhubarb! I bought a few last night. Happened across a little pastry shop that I think opened up recently. It’s fun what you can find in Hell sometimes.”

She smiles a little herself and takes a bite of the pie. It’s delicious, sweet with a bit of tartness to it A noise of satisfaction escapes her. Alastor looks relieved. “You like it?”

“Mhm.” She desperately wants the recipe. Before she goes in for another bite, she asks, “Are you not eating?”

Alastor shakes his head. “No, I already ate.” A pause. “I wanted to apologize for last night. I… I wasn’t thinking right.” He’s looking down at the floor. Taking a shaky breath, he says, “I’m sorry. What I did was… _disgusting.”_

She remembers the way he looked in her tear-filled vision. The horror, shock, and disgust painted on his face, all aimed at himself. How he turned and rushed away. Looking at him now, his expression is far away, in another life, thinking about another person. There’s a venomous anger burning in his eyes, smile sharp and dangerous.

Sachiko grips the fork tighter, feeling uneasy as the tension in the room rises again. But then Alastor comes back to himself, shoulders relaxing, and he picks his cup of tea back up. His ever-shifting moods are going to give her whiplash.

It’s quiet after that, minus the usual hum of static. Alastor sips at his drink as Sachiko thinks of a reply to his apology. He doesn’t look like he’s expecting any sort of acceptance or forgiveness, and she wonders how a self-proclaimed serial killer can possibly be so polite. She takes another bite of pie, chewing it over.

Her husband used to apologize in the beginning of their marriage, but there was always an underlying sense that it was her fault. And then he just outright blamed her for everything that went wrong. She’s not getting that feeling from Alastor.

Sachiko sighs quietly before speaking. “Thank you, for apologizing.”

It’s a neutral stance, not quite accepting but not rejecting either. She still recalls the feeling of his claws digging in, his teeth too close to her face, the screech of static as he shouted at her. It’s not something she’s willing to forgive, but she appreciates him reaching out and offering an apology.

Alastor’s smile is small and soft in understanding. There’s a layer of pain though, and Sachiko tries not to stare at his bruised and split lips. She has to advert her gaze entirely from his face to the table when she keeps looking at the dark bruise under his eye. What a mess. The both of them.

“I’m sorry too,” she says. “For going into your room when you said not to. That was…very inconsiderate of me.”

“Thank you,” he murmurs.

Sachiko breathes a quiet sigh of relief to herself. The air around them finally feels clear.

They enjoy the peace as Sachiko finishes her breakfast. Alastor washes the dishes and Sachiko drags a chair over to help him dry them.

“I was thinking,” Alastor starts, handing her a cup, “We could go out later today, get some food, and get you some new clothes.”

Sachiko feels her face heat up a bit, suddenly aware that it is day three and she’s still wearing her prison uniform. It’s a simple short-sleeved, tan dress. She briefly wonders if Alastor even knows about the context of her clothes. He knows she killed her husband, but she didn’t mention going to prison for it.

Did he go to prison? Was he killed for his crimes? How did he die?

She shoves those questions aside for now and says, “I would like that a lot.”

“We can go out in a couple hours,” Alastor grins, and Sachiko wishes his features weren’t so marred by bruises, cuts, and dried blood. Still, she matches his smile and things finally start to feel a little lighter.

The dishes are dried and put away, and Sachiko does a quick sweep and wipe down of the floor and counters. She and Alastor make a small shopping list of various food ingredients, basic hygiene supplies, and one simple bullet point labelled clothes.

Time passes slowly, and Sachiko tries to busy herself with cleaning as Alastor disappears into his room to get ready. The blood in the bathroom is not surprising but upsetting all the same. She avoids going upstairs but pauses at his bedroom door. He’s humming a little tune to himself as his hooves clack against the wood floor. It makes her feel giddy and she moves on with a simple dusting.

It’s a little bit later when Alastor comes out, hair pulled back into a low ponytail and looking more put together than earlier this morning. What makes her do a double take is how faded the bruise under his eye looks now. The cuts and bruises on his lips are gone entirely. He notices her staring and grins.

“Injuries heal faster in Hell, my dear,” Alastor says. “Someone could spill your intestines and you could heal within a few minutes to a few hours.”

How disturbing. Experiencing what would be life-threatening pain or a fatal injury and then just walking away as if nothing had happened to you. You’ve already crossed death’s door and, as Hell promises, only pain and suffering await.

“Of course, how fast one heals is dependent on how powerful they are,” Alastor continues. As an afterthought, he mumbles to himself, “I used to heal much faster, but…” His smile is forced, expression lost and conflicted.

Sachiko frowns, wanting to know more but afraid of what reaction she’ll receive if she asks. Instead, she decides to go for something more lighthearted. “Is your room clean?”

It catches Alastor off guard and he laughs, the disembodied crowd joining in. Sachiko smiles as the tension leaves her body. Alastor sends her a sheepish look, but there’s a layer of gratefulness mixed in. “It’s a bit of a mess right now. I’ll clean it later and you can judge it if you want.”

Sachiko giggles. “Sure.”

They leave shortly after that. He offers his hand as they walk through the woods. “Stay close to me for now,” he murmurs. She can feel eyes deep within the shadows watching her, and she doesn’t hesitate to hold his hand. Her hand is so much smaller compared to his, but she feels safe and secure. And he’s so gentle despite his claws.

Her heart flutters. Damn her, hopeless romantic fool. She glances up at him, noting how sharp his jawline is, how his cheekbones are probably too prominent. There’s a faint glow to his eyes, big and red and full of an old tired weariness. Despite how unsettling his appearance initially was, she can’t help but find him rather attractive. Especially when he offers her those small and soft smiles, but even the few bloodthirsty grins she’s seen are quite dashing in their own way.

Those sharp teeth and claws. How gentle can he be? How dangerous can he be?

Sachiko carefully bites down on her tongue, aware of her own sharp teeth, wishing she could go back to the cabin so she could let her fantasies run wild. But she keeps them at bay for now, focusing instead on how the woods are thinning out, the shadows and eyes receding.

They step out onto a sidewalk. There’s a forest on the other side of the road. It’s fairly empty, minus the cars that drive by and the few people they pass as they walk down where the city quickly envelops them. Creatures, demon. They fill the streets. It’s bustling with activity, full of people arguing, fighting, laughing, and chatting loudly. There are various genres of music blaring all around them. Cars are honking, bumping into each other’s backends.

It’s all a bit overwhelming.

Sachiko squeezes Alastor’s hand tighter, swiftly moving out of anyone’s way when they come rushing too close. Alastor picks up the pace, and Sachiko considers herself lucky that she’s fast enough to keep up with his long legs.

They enter a meat shop that Sachiko didn’t catch the name of. It’s much quieter, though there are still several people inside chatting amongst themselves or looking around. Sachiko eases her grip on Alastor’s hand but doesn’t dare let go entirely. Especially when one of the demons catches her eye and grins at her with too many mouths and far too many teeth.

There are all kinds of cuts of various animals or whatever the demonic equivalent is here, and Sachiko’s pleased at how clean the place is. She almost panics for a moment when Alastor slips his hand out of her grasp. But then to her horror, she watches him reach over the counter and snag a chunk of raw meat and eat it.

“What are you doing?” she hisses.

Alastor swallows his impromptu meal and just smiles at her. “It’s Hell, my dear.”

Sachiko sputters, “But—”

Before she can say anything else, Alastor reaches over and grabs another piece and eats it. He’s like a child, proudly stealing things he shouldn’t. There’s a part of her that’s pleased to see him happy like this, excited and weirdly charming, but she’s mostly grossed out. “Stop that!”

Alastor cackles and they move on.

They buy one pound of ground meat and two small steaks. The hair on the back of Sachiko’s neck rises when she sees how the demon behind the counter looks at Alastor, eyeing him with a hungry, lustful gaze. He doesn’t say anything, and Alastor ignores him easily enough as he hands over the cash and they exit the shop.

Sachiko wants to know, wants to understand, but outside is too loud and distracting. Instead she stays focused on sticking close to Alastor, hand in hand.

They visit a variety of stores, slowly working down their shopping list and staying within budget. All the while, demons leer over Alastor. Some even make grabs for him, but he’s quick to evade their advances, sometimes snapping his teeth at their hands. They ignore her for the most part, and Sachiko considers herself lucky. And then there’s the things some of them say.

_Come on, just one quick fuck!_

_I’ll fuck you real good, you little slut._

_You fucking whore!_

Alastor never responds, but his grip on her hand is crushing and his grin looks strained. Sachiko wishes she could offer some sort of comfort, but nothing comes to mind.

They enter one last shop. _Franklin & Rosie’s Emporium._ It’s dimly lit, and it smells like a recently blown out candle. Fabrics, mannequins, and clothing styles across the eras fill the inside. Sachiko marvels at the patterns and different styles.

“Good afternoon!” a couple of women’s voices ring out.

They step forward from the shadows, one in a long dark and ornate dress with a large hat and draping feathers. Pure black eyes scan over the both of them but seem to settle on Alastor, her grin sharp against her porcelain white skin. The other woman, shorter than the first, is wearing a more contemporary dress, cut just below the knees and with a lovely floral pattern.

“Welcome to out emporium,” the shorter woman says. “I’m Franklin—”

“And I’m Rosie,” the taller one finishes. She gestures beside them, gaze still fixed on Alastor. “You can leave your things with them for now.”

_Them?_

Sachiko looks to where she’s pointing and is surprised to see a few mannequins moving, holding their arms out toward them. Their carved expressions look polite and kind, empty hands waiting. She and Alastor loop the bags over their arms and they hold strong.

“How can we help you today?” Franklin asks.

“Mary here could use a new set of clothes,” Alastor says, laying a gentle hand on her shoulder. Sachiko smiles nervously.

Rosie looks amused. “Only her? You look rather rough around their edges yourself.”

Alastor stiffens but then laughs easily. “I suppose you’re right. But we’re on a budget and she doesn’t have anything else to wear.”

Sachiko can’t help but feel embarrassed when he mentions her extreme lack of wardrobe. She glares up at him, but he ignores her. Franklin steps forward. “Well, you must have died recently then, right? Let’s look at some clothing styles for you.”

“And Alastor,” Rosie says. “Let’s have a private chat, yeah?”

His smile looks uneasy, but he follows her into a separate room. The door closes and their voices are silenced. Sachiko frowns but is distracted from her thoughts when Franklin touches her shoulder.

“Did you sew at all in life?”

Excitement suddenly swells in Sachiko’s chest. “Yes, I did,” she says, feeling herself smile.

Franklin grins.

They move to a large display of clothing styles that Sachiko had grown accustomed to while living in America. Short dresses full of vibrant colors and cute patterns of dots, stripes, flowers. She reaches a hand out to feel the soft material of a bright yellow dress.

“We can set you up with a few outfits to start with, get them tailored to fit you just right,” Franklin says. “Would you like your own fabric to sew yourself as well?”

Sachiko would love to, but— “I don’t have a sewing machine.”

Franklin smiles softly. “We might be able to work something out with Rosie, but you can still order some fabrics in the meantime.”

A grateful smile finds its way onto her face. The excitement bubbles within her. Her fingers twitch, wanting to work with something right now, but instead she focuses on choosing a few outfits to have tailored for her. Franklin chats amicably about Sachiko’s choices in style and her own personal taste.

Alastor and Rosie make their return, both with sharp smiles, and Alastor in a completely different outfit from earlier. Gray slacks, white shirt, green tie, and a red suit jacket that’s so big it looks like he’s drowning in it. But he’s positively beaming, and it makes Sachiko’s heart flutter. He looks dashing, absolutely handsome in contemporary clothing.

“Oh, you look lovely!” Franklin exclaims, voicing Sachiko’s thoughts.

“Doesn’t he?” Rosie grins. She brushes her hands over his shoulders, smoothing out the suit jacket, before walking around to stand with Franklin. Her piercing black eyes scan over Sachiko. “That dress looks wonderful on you, dearie.”

Sachiko beams. It’s a red dress patterned with little white dots, form fitting around her waist and blooming out past her knees. She hasn’t felt cute or pretty in years, constantly degraded and demeaned by her husband, and she can’t help but give a little twirl now. How strange to feel so free and lighthearted in Hell of all places.

Alastor pays for their clothing shortly after, the price suspiciously cheap and Rosie’s smile overly kind. Franklin assures Sachiko that a sewing machine was included in the purchase.

“You’ll see it later,” she whispers with a wink. Her grin is infectious.

Rosie waves them goodbye, her pure white claws glinting in the light. “Come again soon.”

Sachiko skips almost the whole way back to the cabin. One hand in Alastor’s, the other holding the spoils of their day out. They put away the groceries, food and hygienics first. Sachiko’s clothes are placed near the couch and Alastor assures her he’ll set up a room for her soon. She wonders how he’ll accomplish that considering how small the cabin is.

He snaps his fingers then, a red spark flying out and landing in a corner of the living room, spinning and growing. In a flash, a wonderful sewing machine set up fills the area. Warmth fills Sachiko’s chest and she nearly melts at the soft look Alastor sends her. “I was told you like to sew?”

“I do,” Sachiko says, smiling. “One of my neighbors showed me and I got obsessed.”

Alastor chuckles. “My mother used to knit. Messy scarves and the like. She tried teaching me and mine looked even worse.” He laughs loudly, and the disembodied crowd joins him. There’s a twinge of sadness in his voice though, lost in memories. He seems to do that a lot, lose himself in his thoughts.

“Maybe I could I teach you some little tricks,” Sachiko says easily enough. Alastor grins.

“I think I would like that.”

They stick to their own spaces for a while after that, Alastor disappearing down the hallway and Sachiko mapping out designs for future dresses. She hears him come back out at some point and head into the kitchen. The clang of pots and pans makes her get up and move to the kitchen. She catches him pulling out meat and vegetables from the fridge.

“What are you doing?” she asks, making him pause and turn to face her.

Alastor smiles at her. “I’m going to cook.”

He looks so earnest but— “We have leftovers,” she points out. Not only that, but she wanted to ration out what they have into acceptable portions to last them a long while. She doesn’t want him going again like he did yesterday, at least not so soon.

“It’s been such a long time since I last cooked for anyone,” Alastor says. His grin is full of excitement, but his eyes are silently pleading with her. “You can help me if you would like.” _Please._

It goes unsaid but she can almost hear it clear as day in her head. Sachiko sighs heavily before relenting. She can work on the rationing tomorrow with breakfast. One night with dinner won’t hurt them too much, and she can always portion out the leftovers afterward.

They work on a meat stew together. Alastor sets up the chunks of meat in a separate pan before chopping the vegetables with her. Sachiko notes the shakiness in his hands as he holds his knife. His cuts aren’t very precious or even, but it seems like a lack of practice rather than simply not knowing. She catches the frustration on his face, but she doesn’t dare make any remarks. He’s trying.

“Did you cook a lot?” Sachiko asks instead.

“Used to,” Alastor says, dropping his cuts into the pot and moving to check on the meat. “I need to get back into it.”

Sachiko hums. “How long have you been in Hell?”

“What year is it?”

“1955.”

Alastor sighs heavily and Sachiko glances at him. His expression is distant, hurt briefly painting over his features before he comes back to himself. Another sigh. “It’s been 22 years since I’ve died.”

“Huh,” Sachiko says and then laughs a little. “That’s how old I am.” Alastor blinks, taken back for a moment, and then laughs with her.

The rest of prep goes smoothly, and Sachiko relaxes at the table as Alastor finishes up the cooking. The smell is wonderful, and the atmosphere feels the calmest it ever has been since she arrived. To her pleasant surprise, she hears Alastor sing a little tune. Music even accompanies him. It’s jazzy, upbeat, and it makes Sachiko grin.

Dinner is delicious. But the best part is seeing how real Alastor’s smile is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the long wait, but I finished writing ch4 and I'm really happy. but as always, please do let me know what you think ❤  
> feel to check out my discord server btw lol


	4. The Long Road to Healing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some days are better than others.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry for the extremely delayed update. I was feeling motivated again and just edited Ch4. Is Ch5 even close to being done? Uuuuhhhh, unfortunately no lol. Hopefully soon but no promises.
> 
> Anyways, here's Ch4!!

The upcoming weeks to months flow by with relative ease, minus some bumps here and there. The days after Alastor has to go out are always the hardest, some worse than others. Always bruised, often bloody, drunk, coming down from a high. He’s somehow both so open and entirely closed off, sometimes literally as he slams the bedroom door in her face.

Sachiko sighs, frowning at the muffled sobs coming from the other side of the door. It’s late. She already ate dinner. Tomorrow will be better, she’s sure.

She wakes up the next morning to the sound of retching. Sachiko can only sigh as she gets up and slips off the couch, stretching her body and rolling her neck. Normal routine still takes place, folding blankets and moving to the kitchen to make breakfast. Best to stay light for Alastor, some toast and water. A little veggie omelet for herself will be good.

He eventually shuffles into the kitchen, hair knotted, face bruised but healing. Sachiko sips at her tea as Alastor nibbles at his toast. It’s a quiet morning, and later they both clean the blood staining the floor of his bedroom.

The days after are easier, more uplifting. Alastor cooks with her and even helps her portion out the meals into acceptable rations. Though it’s easy to notice when his appetite increases as the leftovers start disappearing faster and faster as the days go on. Unfortunately, this leads them to running out of food faster. And because most of their money goes to food, Alastor has to go out again, and the cycle repeats.

Sachiko has urged him multiple times to do something—anything else to earn money. She remembers the solum look he gave her, and how it made the dark bruises on his face look even worse.

_I don’t know anything else._

Her heart ached when he said that. His voice was so quiet, so full of shame and defeat. She wanted to reach out, say something, off him just a tiny bit of comfort, but he left for his room before she could try. They didn’t talk about it the next day, but Sachiko made silent plans to see if she could sell some of her handmade outfits.

The next time they went out, Sachiko made sure they visited _Franklin & Rosie’s Emporium._ She managed to work out a small deal with them so she could sell clothes there. Alastor had shaken his head at her, but she knew a little extra money could go a long way.

She wants to save it for a while, build it up until they have something reliable that can get them by until Alastor finds something to do that’s less harmful to himself. It’s not much at the moment, having only just started this little project of hers a few weeks ago, but she’s confident it’ll work out in the end.

“See you later,” Alastor says softly, interrupting her thoughts. Sachiko waves goodbye, watching him close the door behind him.

Sachiko sighs and sweeps up the scraps of fabric from her latest project. She doesn’t throw them away, not when she knows she can use them for something else. Hell has such a variety of creatures and body types, and she’s been trying to make outfits that can encapsulate that. This latest one is a dark blue suit jacket with an overly pattern of light blue flowers made for a demon with four arms.

Once everything’s put away, she focuses on some general cleaning to pass the time. It doesn’t take long, like usual, and she decides to enjoy a private moment in the bath afterwards.

The hours pass and Sachiko contemplates what to make for dinner. She’s been slowly incorporating more dishes from her homeland and Alastor has enjoyed each one so far, even wanting to learn the recipes. It’s nice to have someone enjoy something that’s such an integral part of her, whether he knows it or not. She had to bury so much of herself when she was with her husband and the neighbors.

She’s thinking of doing sashimi when she hears the front door open. Sachiko closes the fridge and walks out into the living room just in time to see Alastor carefully lay himself down on the couch.

“Everything okay?” she asks. Normally he doesn’t come home— _home?_ —until it’s pitch black outside.

She moves to look at his face when there’s no response. His eyes are squeezed shut, his teeth are bared as he focuses on breathing, and he has his arms wrapped around himself. There are dark bruises on his pain-stricken face and his lips are split and the wounds on his neck and chest are still bleeding.

Sachiko moves quickly, dampening a cloth with warm water so she can clean up some of the blood. Alastor panics when the cloth first touches his skin, grabbing her wrist and staring at her with fearful, unrecognizing eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she says, keeping her voice steady despite her own panic. Alastor breathes hard, loosening his grip on her wrist once he realizes who’s in front of him.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, letting her go. His voice sounds hoarse and Sachiko tries not to think about what may have happened to him. He winces when she dabs at his wounds, his gaze fixated on the wall behind her. Her insides twist when she how deep the bites are in his neck.

She tries to get him to shift a bit so she can clean his face easier, but the agonized cry that rips out of him when he moves makes her stop. Guilt eats away at her as she finishes what she can before leaving the cloth in the kitchen sink to clean later. She drapes a blanket over him, trying to offer some sort of comfort, and he sends an exhausted smile her way.

Sachiko frowns.

“You need to stop this,” she says. Alastor sighs before grimacing and Sachiko continues, “It’s just causing you more harm. Do you… do you not have any boundaries? Rules? This is…”

It’s the worst she’s seen him, and who knows what injuries lay hidden under his clothes.

“More money if I just… let them do whatever they want,” Alastor mumbles. Sachiko’s heart constricts. After a deep, pained breath Alastor says, “I got a lot more this time. Enough that I can stop for a while.”

“Stop permanently,” Sachiko corrects. _“Please.”_

Alastor sighs softly but makes no other comment. He then squeezes his eyes shut and curls in on himself more, heavy breaths hissing past clenched teeth. Sachiko wishes there more she could do to help ease the pain.

Instead she asks, “Do you want something to eat? Maybe some soup?”

“No,” Alastor nearly moans. He cracks one eye open. “Could you just—” a shaky breath— “could you just stay here for a bit?”

Sachiko nods before sitting down on the floor, leaning back against the couch. It’s quiet, minus Alastor’s hissing breaths. Sometimes there’s a whimper and it sounds like he’s on the verge of sobbing before he collects himself and just focuses on breathing again. Sachiko picks at her dress and worries her bottom lip.

“My name isn’t actually Mary,” she blurts out in a rushed mess. “My real name is Sachiko.”

She waits for some sort of backlash for lying but all she hears is a quiet, “Really?”

“Yeah,” she laughs just a little bit. “I was born in Japan. I moved when I was younger with my husband…” She pauses briefly, thinking her words over. “They weren’t the best years of my life, but there were little things I enjoyed. Like learning new recipes and wearing new clothes.”

She continues talking, chatting aimlessly about whatever comes to mind. She keeps it light though, not wanting to detail the abuse at the hands of her husband. Mostly she talks about her childhood, what her parents did, what school was like. She mentions the neighbors she had in America and how the kids were both endearing and annoying.

“I actually… fed my husband to them,” she confesses. “A sort of petty revenge, I guess.”

“You cooked and ate him?” Alastor asks. Sachiko can’t stop the laughter that bubbles out of her. It sounds so absurd when said aloud. Alastor’s own laughter sounds pained but then he says, “I guess we have bit more in common than I thought.”

Sachiko pauses. “You—”

“I was a cannibal, my dear”

A cannibal serial killer in life, a sad broken man in Hell. He mentioned it’s been 22 years since he died. She wonders what could have possibly happened to him while he was here. What caused the heavy weariness in his eyes? What caused him to live this life of pain and just… be okay with it?

“Sounds like you’ve led an interesting,” Sachiko comments. Alastor chuckles softly.

She continues from there, hesitantly detailing how she killed her husband. She had been thinking about it for a while until she finally had enough and committed. He was snoring on the couch and she stood in front of him with the meat pounder in hand. She remembers yelling as she beat his face in, just wild screams as blood splattered and spilled all over her, the couch, the wall, and the floor.

When his face was nothing more than a bloody concaved mess, she dropped her tool and laughed as it clattered to the floor. She threw up shortly thereafter, and then laughed some more. Then she had taken his body to the kitchen and cut him up and packaged him away. She cleaned up all the blood and got her first well rested sleep in years.

She mentions going to prison not too long after the incident. People were concerned about her husband’s whereabouts, not satisfied and even suspicious of Sachiko’s explanations. The evidence was all there when people came looking. She didn’t stand a chance. She didn’t really care either.

Sachiko sighs, exhaustion taking over. After a brief pause, she asks, “Who… who was your first kill?”

There’s no response. Sachiko sits up, anxiety pooling into her stomach, and turns around to look at him. The relief that crashes over her when she sees that he’s just asleep is overwhelming. His expression is pinched but far more relaxed compared to earlier, his breathing slow and steady.

Sachiko quietly grabs a pillow and blanket and curls up on the floor next to the couch. It’s not long before she drifts off to sleep as well.

The next morning arrives, the light coming through the windows and waking her up. She stays still though when she hears Alastor moving, groaning as he pulls himself up and off the couch. His hooves scrape across the wood floor as he drags himself down the hall. Sachiko sits up when she hears a door close and stands when she hears running water.

She sighs when she looks at the couch, eyeing the unfortunate blood stains. She’s only just started on the cleaning when she hears an agonized cry from down the hall. Sachiko rushes over and knocks hard on the bathroom door.

“Are you okay?” She shakes her head and amends, “Do you need help?”

“No,” Alastor moans, and she hears him choke back a sob. “I’m fine. Go away.”

Sachiko worries her bottom lip, heart aching when she catches the sobs he can’t hold back. She wants to do something, desperately wants to offer some sort of comfort to ease his pain. But she knows it’s probably best to leave him alone right now. At the very least, maybe a nice breakfast will help.

Bacon, eggs, and toast seems good enough. She sets up his plate on the table and pours a cup of tea for him as well. She’s just finished setting up her own plate when Alastor shuffles into the kitchen. His hair is loose and damp, falling over his shoulders as he hugs himself. He failed miserably with the button up as she can see the still healing wounds on his chest and neck. The cuts on his lips seem to have healed but the bruises are still dark and prominent.

“Morning,” she says softly. Alastor attempts a small smile in return. He eyes his chair warily before just picking up his cup of tea to drink while standing. Sachiko sighs quietly and eats in silence. It’s not the first time he’s refused to sit after a day out, but she hopes it’ll be the last.

It’s a quiet day. Sachiko makes no comment about the blood in the bathroom, just diligently wipes and washes it away. Alastor stays in his room, and Sachiko pretends she doesn’t hear him sobbing as she works on her sewing projects.

The next few days are hard, Alastor drinks more than usual. He always drinks, usually just a few glasses throughout the day, but now he’s finishing bottles. The times he gets up from the table only to completely collapse to the floor always make her insides twist with anxiety as she rushes to his side.

“’M fine,” he slurs, sluggishly pushing her hands away.

Sachiko frowns. “No, you’re not,” she says, reaching for him again.

Alastor rolls to his side, keeping his back to her, and curls up. Sachiko sighs, placing a hand on his shoulder. She pauses though when she notes the trembling.

“Al?”

He draws in a shaky breath. “I just—” a choked sob— “I’m—”

Whatever resolve he had left breaks down and he cries. His body shakes as he attempts to muffle his sobs by burying his face in his hands. Sachiko feels useless, sitting on her knees beside him with just a hand on his shoulder. She wishes she could do something more for him.

It’s probably only a few minutes later when Alastor calms down, his loud cries turning into quiet sniffles. Sachiko considers getting a blanket for him when he suddenly scrambles to the trashcan and vomits. When the contents of his stomach have been emptied of all the alcohol, he carefully stands up, grabs another bottle, and sways back to his bedroom.

Sachiko can only sigh in defeat.

Things don’t improve much from there. They do make a shopping list and go out some days later to buy what they need for the upcoming weeks. Alastor did make a lot more than usual, but they keep their normal budget to make it last longer just in case. To her surprise, he helps her out in the kitchen a few times. But otherwise things are still difficult.

It’s late afternoon one day when she catches him sitting at the table, a bottle of whiskey in one hand as he leaves deep grooves in the wooden surface with his claws. He catches her eye and tips the bottle back. Sachiko looks away but continues forward in order to make a cup of tea for herself. Her back hurts a little from bending over her sewing projects so much, so she’s taking a little break for now.

“I use t’ be a radio host,” he murmurs.

Sachiko glances at him. “When you were alive or here in Hell?”

“Both.” He lays his head down on the table, empty bottle of liquor forgotten as he continues scratching into the wood. “I miss it. Was fun.”

Sachiko thinks of the room upstairs and all the broken pieces. “What happened?”

“I died.”

His tone implies so much more than just having had physically died in life. Something happened here in Hell. She thinks of when he told her he was serial killer, a cannibal. She thinks of the words _whore_ and _slut_ that she saw on his bedroom wall, how he leaves and comes back with bite marks and bruises. The man she knows right now must be so different from the man he used to be.

“Maybe…” Sachiko starts after a while. “Maybe you could start again?”

“Maybe,” Alastor mumbles. He groans, standing up from the table, and leaves the kitchen. She hears his bedroom door close as she pours her tea. The cup is hot in her hands, and she dares let hope swell up in her chest.

The next morning is a bit rough, and Alastor nibbles on toast after having thrown up earlier. But afterward, instead of hiding away in his room with a bottle of whiskey, he goes upstairs. It’s the first time Sachiko’s seen him do so since she arrived and the hope she has swells further.

The days pass by and Alastor seems to be doing a little better. He hums little tunes, and his grins look more relaxed. His drinking has eased back a bit, no longer finishing full bottles of alcohol. And Sachiko can’t describe the amount of giddiness she feels whenever he goes upstairs with music spewing from his teeth. She’s heard him move things around, fixing what he can, and it’s exciting.

“I have to go out for a bit,” he announces one afternoon as he steps into the living room.

Sachiko looks up from her latest project to eye his outfit. A red patterned suit jacket over a white button up that’s tucked into black slacks. His shirt is buttoned all the way, and he’s even wearing a dark red tie. It’s something he would wear if they were both going out to buy groceries, not to earn money. She finds herself relaxing.

“Do you want me to come with?” she asks.

Alastor shakes his head. “No, that’s okay. I shouldn’t be long.” He slips on his shoes. “Later, my dear!” He sends a grin her way before closing the door.

Sachiko hums, a smile pulling at her lips.

But then the hours pass by, and Sachiko watches day turn into night. Anxiety twists itself into a knot and sits in her stomach like a rock. She eats one of the leftovers for dinner, but her mind is caught in a web of worry.

Alastor left in much higher spirits than he’s been in since he came home that day and just laid down on the couch. And he’s never left with a genuine excited energy to him when it came to earning money. He said he wouldn’t be long, and Sachiko figured maybe an hour or two at most. She’s seen the way people look at him and make grabs for him, and she fears what may have happened to him.

She cleans even though it’s not really necessary, but she doesn’t know what else to do. It’s completely dark out and Sachiko struggles to sleep curled up on the couch. Just when her mind is finally starting to drift away, the front door slams open.

Sachiko sits up just in time to see Alastor rush into the kitchen. She hears him open cabinets and the sound of glass bottles clinking together and getting slammed down on the counter. Her heart constricts and anxiety twists her insides. She wonders if she should talk to him or just leave him be.

Without warning, Alastor shouts and throws a bottle at the wall, shattering it completely. Sachiko freezes, fear grabbing hold of her as her mind starts to reel back. But then she hears muffled sobs, and she remembers that this is Alastor and not her husband. Her husband never cried, he just got angrier.

Sachiko carefully slips off the couch and steps into the kitchen, avoiding the pieces of glass on the floor. Alastor’s backed himself into a corner, sitting on the floor and hugging his knees to his chest, head down. Sachiko worries her bottom lip.

“Al?”

He flinches but otherwise doesn’t move.

She steps closer, sitting down on her knees in front of him. His clothes are rumpled, hair loose and tangled. He smells like alcohol, sweat, and sex.

Sachiko reaches out a hand. “Al—”

Alastor grabs it. Not harshly but it startles her all the same and she jerks back. His grip is firm though, not crushing, but strong enough she can’t slip her hand away. He lifts his head up just enough for her to see the soft red glow of his eyes.

“I keep struggling to accept who I am… even though I thought I accepted it years ago,” Alastor murmurs. “But I know who I am. I know what I am…” He rubs his thumb over her hand, and it sends a line of electricity down her arm. Sachiko thinks she could melt at the gesture, but the situation feels all too wrong.

“Al,” she tries again. “I—is everything okay?”

He looks her in the eye, and she can see the hurt, confliction, and desperation written all over his face. The smile he tries to paint on is so forced and fake it makes Sachiko’s heart ache.

“I know you want me,” Alastor says, uncurling himself so his legs lay spread across the floor. Sachiko’s breath catches in her throat.

“What—”

“I’ve seen the way you look at me. So…” His voice is strained, full of static. Alastor lets her hand go and starts undoing the rest of the buttons of his shirt, revealing more skin, more scars, and Sachiko is frozen. “Why not make your wish come true?”

Panic makes her move and Sachiko grabs his hands to keep him from going any lower. “Al, no.”

Alastor leans forward so their faces are only centimeters apart and she can smell the alcohol on his breath and the blood from his split lips. His gaze is leering, but Sachiko can see the unease, feel his hesitance, and knows this is him trying to play a role he doesn’t actually want.

“What’s wrong, darling?” he asks, voice low.

“This isn’t you,” Sachiko whispers. “You don’t have to do this.”

His fake smile falters for just a moment, and she watches him try to hold himself together and keep going. “It’s perfectly fine, my dear. I’m just a whore, like any other on the street.”

Sachiko’s heart breaks at the pain in his words. “No, you’re not.” Alastor laughs, static crackling, and shakes his head at her. She can tell he wants to argue against her just as much as he wants to believe her. She squeezes his trembling hands. “You’re not a whore, Alastor.”

He refuses to look at her, keeping his head down. “You can’t just—I—” He’s curling back in on himself, pulling his hands out of hers so he can hold himself. “I’ve been his whore for over 20 years, you can’t just tell me I’m not!” Alastor breathes hard, and Sachiko watches the last of his fragile walls finally break down. “Used me for years and then he just… he…”

Alastor sobs.

It’s loud, full of pain and anger and hurt. Sachiko hesitates for a moment before scooting a little closer and bringing him into a hug. He wraps his arms around her, sharp claws digging in but not piercing. He cries onto her shoulder, tears soaking into her dress. But she doesn’t mind, just keeps him close for as long as he’ll let her.

She has no idea how much time has passed, maybe an hour, before Alastor’s loud sobs quiet down into noisy sniffles. Sachiko worries her bottom lip again; debating is she should ask the question in her head. She wants to, know, wants to understand, but hopes she won’t turn him away. “Who was he?”

Alastor sucks in a sharp, shaky breath and pulls away from her. He wipes at his face and keeps his head hung low when he speaks. “His name is Valentino. I made a bad deal shortly after arriving in Hell. I… I don’t even really remember making it. But—” he rubs his fingers over the center of his chest— “I can feel part of his soul burning right next to mine. And I know part of mine is burning next to his. We’re bound together.”

Sachiko tries to imagine what that must be like, how painful it must be. Or maybe it’s not painful at all and burning is simply the best descriptor when it comes to souls. Alastor moves then, struggling to get up for a moment. Sachiko expects him to leave but instead he grabs a full bottle of whiskey from the cabinet and starts downing it.

“Al,” Sachiko starts, frowning. “Please don’t.”

A grating static hum is the only reply. Alastor slams the bottle down on the counter. “I stayed with him at his studio for years. I was his personal favorite. His whore, his slut.” He laughs here, harsh and cold. “But I guess he got bored. Replaced me with someone else, his new little sex toy, and tossed me out like trash.” He takes another long drink.

Sachiko slowly stands up, observing his hunched form when he sets the bottle down again. He looks so defeated, tired, and hurt. She wants to say something, offer some comfort, reassure him that he’s far more than just some slut, that he’s not someone’s whore.

“I saw them today,” Alastor whispers, making Sachiko pause. “Him and his new fuck toy. I saw them and I just…” He sniffs before tipping the bottle back again. Even quieter, he asks, “Is it bad that sometimes I wish he would take me back? Just so I don’t feel so useless… just so I won’t have to think anymore…”

Sachiko doesn’t know what to do, what to say. She doesn’t have an answer to ease his thoughts. Alastor wipes at his face before emptying the bottle and sinking down to the floor with a groan. He mindlessly turns the bottle in his hands, staring blankly at the cabinets across the kitchen. Sachiko sits next to him and it’s quiet for a while.

“I just…” Alastor murmurs. “I don’t feel like me anymore. I—” he sniffs and rubs at his eyes. “I don’t know.”

He slumps against the cabinet with a heavy, defeated sigh. He looks exhausted as tears continue to fall down his cheeks. Sachiko looks down at the floor.

“I’m sorry,” she says, not sure what else she could possibly say.

“Not your fault, my dear.”

“I know, but—” her heart aches all the same. Hurts in a way that makes her want to lay down and curl up into a ball. She can’t imagine how Alastor is feeling, how lost and out of touch he is with himself now. She recalls a similar feeling though. Outcasted in her neighborhood, suppressed and pushed down by her husband.

Sachiko holds out her hand. When Alastor accepts the offer, she gives him a tight squeeze. “You’re not his whore,” she says. “You’re you. You’re Alastor.”

Alastor scoffs. “You hardly know me.”

“I know you’re capable of kindness,” she argues. “You’ve been kind to me at least. You’re charming. You like music and dancing. You like cooking and trying new foods. You—”

The laugh Alastor manages is flat. “You would have hated me in life.”

“Maybe,” she concedes. “But I didn’t meet you then. I met you here and I don’t hate you now.”

Alastor glances at her with the smallest of smiles and it makes her chest feel tight. He’s said he was a serial killer, a cannibal, and a radio host in life. He must have been so animated, so charming, so cruel. How cutting his words must have been. How brutal his kills must have been. How truly awful he must have been only to be confronted by someone even worse in Hell. To be broken down into this shell of a man whose smiles are so often forced and fake.

Sachiko squeezes his hand again and says more forcefully. “You’re not his whore. He doesn’t own you.”

He looks away but returns the gesture by squeezing her hand back. It’s quiet between them again, minus the occasional sniff from Alastor as he wipes his eyes with his free hand.

Sachiko’s mind wanders, thinking of how strangely similar they are and yet so incredibly different. Where they both broke down and molded themselves to fit what was needed and wanted from them. But Sachiko must have never fit quite right since her husband was never happy with her efforts. Or, more accurately, he was never going to be satisfied with her.

She wonders if Alastor managed to fit in well, if he managed to make himself exactly what this Valentino bastard wanted of him. But where Sachiko used the shards of her broken mold to kill her husband, Alastor was discarded. Tossed out like trash. He still feels trapped in that mold and that’s why he’s struggling with who he is now. But the cracks are there, she knows he’ll break free.

Alastor’s voice filters through the soft static hum as he murmurs, “He doesn’t own me…”

He’s talking to himself, thinking over the words and taking them to heart. Sachiko squeezes his hand in support. “No, he doesn’t,” she affirms.

Alastor squeezes back before slipping his hand out of hers. He brings it to his mouth and grabs hold of the silver tooth. To Sachiko’s horror, he pulls down and rips it out of his gums. He throws it away from his person and it skids across the floor, blood trailing after it.

“Al!” Sachiko doesn’t know what else to say. What could she say? She tears her gaze away from the piece of silver and watches him spit a mouthful of blood onto the floor. Red coats his lips, dripping his chin, and Sachiko is frozen in place at the sight. Finally, she manages to get out, “Wha—why did you do that?”

Alastor leans back, looking satisfied with himself. He spits one more time before grinning at her, teeth bloody, torn gums still oozing crimson, and proudly says, “He doesn’t own me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think!! And don't forget I have a little [discord server](https://discord.gg/g2fkFqB) you can join (if you're 18+). I share snippets for this story and also you get to see me art and talk about all my other ideas haha
> 
> EDIT 1 February 2020: I should left this note sooner but whatever. Currently this story is on hiatus. This story suffered from a major lack of planning which is very evident in my eyes and I'm just not satisfied with how things are turning out. I've been reworking the plot in my spare time and it's gonna take a long while before all the writing is updated with the rewrites. When everything has been updated, I'll let you all know within a fresh new chapter. No promises on when.
> 
> Thank you for supporting me and this story. It means a lot ❤❤❤

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know what you think!
> 
> Also feel free to follow my tumblr [dogscars](https://dogscars.tumblr.com/) where I reblog things related to this story and the many other ideas I have, along with just some general Hazbin Hotel content lol.


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